Office Games
by The Scranton Alliance
Summary: In which a coalition of Office Fan Fic writers combine their efforts in a series of vignettes.  Phase Two: in which IHE pumps up some classic Pulp Fiction funk to apologize for the delay.
1. Minesweeper

Story Notes:

Okay, so here's how this'll work. A group of us decided to have some fun with the theme of "office games." We're each going to take a chapter and see what happens. None of us knows what the others have written, so this should be very interesting.

The authors represented here are: Wendy Blue, Cousin Mose, Alex Wert, I Heart Edward Cullen, and HalloweenJack138.

Disclaimer: We obviously don't own anything, so don't sue us. Rated T, just to cover our bases.

Author's Chapter Notes:  
Cousin Mose is up first. As far as spoilers go, this is set post "The Job," but really, if you don't know what's going on, why are you reading this?

** Minesweeper**  
By Cousin Mose

--------------

Michael: A wise man once said that there 'ain't no cure for the summertime blues.' And whenever I hear that saying, it makes me think of the olden days, and I feel sad for that man and what he must have gone through. Because we live in a day and age where we have found a cure for the summertime blues—office computer games.

_He grins and clicks his mouse a few times._

Michael: We all have our favorite games around here: solitaire, pinball, hearts…but I recently discovered this game called 'minesweeper,' and it's a lot of fun. Here, I'll show you. See, the idea is that you've got this grid of squares, and your enemy is hiding under some of those squares, and you have to try and blow him up…

_Click._

Michael: Nope, not under there.

_Click._

Michael: Oh, so close…these numbers here are the points I'm getting…how 'bout over here…

_Kaboom!_

Michael: Yes! Ha! Did you see that? See, I found the bad guy and blew him up with a mine…and these other guys, too—I think they're his friends—and they all blew themselves up when they saw that I blew up this guy here. I guess they had a suicide pact going on or something. So not only is it a fun game… but it's topical.

_He nods, grim faced—and just a little misty-eyed._

Michael: Support the troops.

--------------

Michael Scott stood at the door to his office and surveyed the room. It was summer and the area schools were out, signaling the beginning of what was typically the slowest time of the year at Dunder-Mifflin. Michael had been getting pressure from "Herr Ryan," as Michael secretly referred to him, to keep employee productivity high. It would not be easy, he thought to himself. Except for the clicking of computer keys and the occasional hum of the copier, the office was all but silent. Everyone seemed stranded in their own little world of tedium. Michael noticed the camera trained on him, and quickly smiled and walked over to Pam's desk.

"Pam and eggs!" he said, drumming his knuckles along her countertop, startling her. "Any messages?"

"Nope." She said, shaking her head.

"Any faxes that I need to look over?"

"No."

"Any calls at all? For anyone?"

"Nope, none. Sorry." Pam shrugged.

Michael looked at the camera briefly and then back at Pam. "Type something, will ya? We're paying for all this stuff." He grinned at the camera. "Bill Murray. Ghostbusters." He turned back to Pam. "One more thing. If Jan calls, tell her I can't make it home for…lunch…today."

Pam expression was half annoyance, half horror. "Will do, Michael," she said, quickly opening a Word document and typing random words, hoping that he wouldn't dwell on his last thought.

"It's just my back has been really sore lately, y'know?" he said, causing Pam to wish for spontaneous combustion.

--------------

Pam: Remember when we went to the mall with Michael? Ever since Jan moved in with him, it's been like that almost every day. Except now all the other ladies in the office have abandoned Michael so now he just comes and tells me about his problems with Jan.

_Her smile is dripping with sarcasm._

Pam: Lucky me, huh? Yeah. I've gotta start watching where he goes a little better. He's like one of those floating ocean bombs with the magnets that blow up ships or something. You never know where and when he'll go off.

--------------

"Let me tell you, the later chapters of the Kama Sutra are not for the faint of heart…" Michael was continuing his story when Pam's salvation came in the form of a phone call.

She quickly answered. "Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam."

"Hey Pam." Jim said quietly into the phone. "Looks like you could use some help over there."

"Oh, hi Jan!" Pam said, seizing the opportunity. "Yeah, Michael is…" Michael's eyes grew wide and he waved his hands back and forth and shook his head. "You know what? Michael is not available. Can he call you back?"

"You are too good at this." Jim's voice came through the receiver. "Really. A master."

Pam smiled. Michael stood, frozen with fear, his eyes silently pleading.

"Okay, I'll have him call you later. Thanks for calling, Jan. Bye."

"My pleasure." Jim chuckled on his end of the phone. He held it to his ear even after Pam hung up so as not to raise suspicion. Not that Michael would have noticed anyway, as he thanked Pam and quickly disappeared back inside his office.

--------------

Jim: Yeah, it's pretty quiet around here this time of year. Everyone is bored and we're sorta getting on each other's nerves. The heat doesn't help much, either. Kelly got into this big argument yesterday with Andy over which Cranberries song was the best, if you can believe that. Stanley's still mad over Michael's Fourth of July "Emancipation Pot-luck-ation" lunch—

_He looks off camera and keeps talking to someone_.

Jim: you know—the thing with the chains? Yeah.

_He looks back at the camera._

Jim: And Angela's upset with…well, everything. So no change there. I guess you could say we're all just trying to watch where we step, you know?

--------------

"Hey Beesly," Jim said as he leaned against her counter and fished out a jellybean from the candy dish, "I am sensing some severe boredom vibes from this general area." He waved his hand around in small circles right in front of Pam.

"You have no idea." She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Hey, thanks for saving me from Michael earlier. I appreciate it."

"No problem. I'll send you a bill later for my services."

"My hero." she laughed.

"So, any messages?" he teased.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm so bored I'm actually wishing for the phone to ring." She said.

"You want me to call you again?" he asked. "So you don't get rusty with your phone skills?"

She giggled. Jim leaned over and glanced at her screen. "Minesweeper?" he asked. "I thought you were strictly a solitaire kind of a girl."

"I don't really 'play' it," she said, "but sometimes I like to create a big grid with only 10 mines and just watch the empty squares disappear."

Jim raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Oookaaay…"

"What?" she asked, sensing his sarcasm.

"Nothing." He grinned. "I think it's good that you're getting your destructive tendencies out here. Much safer for everyone."

"You, especially." She giggled.

"I don't have to take that." Jim feigned shock. "I'll just be over here at my desk." He walked back, sat down, picked up his phone and dialed. A moment later, Pam's phone rang. She made a face at Jim and picked up. He just gave her a 'what?' look.

"You are such a dork sometimes," she said into the receiver.

"See? It's a good thing I called you," he said, "you're already rusty. You're the voice of Dunder-Mifflin, Beesly, and I think you should take that responsibility a little more seriously."

"I'm hanging up on you, Halpert." She laughed.

"People!" Dwight shouted, suddenly appearing from the kitchenette, "What is this?" He held up a small plastic cup. Everyone turned around.

"Never mind," said Jim into the phone, "I think this takes precedent."

"Definitely," agreed Pam and they both hung up and watched the days' edition of the Cirque d'Schrute unfold before them.

"Well?" Dwight demanded again. "What is this?"

"Looks like a cup." Andy said as he walked past.

"Correct, Einstein," snarled Dwight, visually stabbing Andy as he passed, "But a cup of what?"

"Soda?" ventured Phyllis.

"Scotch?" asked Meredith with a twinge of hope in her voice.

"Both wrong!" snapped Dwight, holding the cup out for all to see. "This cup is half full of _water_!!" he emphasized the last word as though it were burning his tongue. Everyone stared blankly at him. "Do you have any idea what that means?" He continued.

"That you're an optimist?" asked Jim, causing a quiet giggle from Pam, who quickly covered her mouth.

"Dammit, people!" exasperated Dwight, "This is mosquito season! Ever hear of a little thing called the _West Nile Virus_? Mosquitoes breed in standing water!"

Jim leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly. "How do the mosquitoes get inside the building, Dwight? All the windows are sealed."

Dwight shook his head and smiled at Jim with pity. "Oh, they have their ways, believe me. They feast on blood, and when they want it, they'll find a way to get it. Now then, people: never, EVER leave a cup of water like this out in the open. If you can't finish it, dump it out…"

As Dwight was ranting, an instant message window popped up on Jim's monitor:

FanSeeKnewBeesLee: _Are you thinking what I'm thinking?_

A sly smile spread across Jim's face and he immediately responded:

GymHowlPert: _I think so. And I think our day just got more interesting._

--------------

Dwight: Do I fear mosquitoes? Hardly. I fear nothing in this world, and only a handful of things not of this world. Do I respect them, however? Let me put it to you this way: only a fool does not respect his enemies. Mosquitoes—like all good predators—have only one goal. One purpose. And when they see their prize, they take it.

_His smile all but causes the lens to frost over._

Dwight: You have to admire that.

--------------

Dwight returned to his desk after lunch and was about to resume working when something caught his eye. He pushed his chair back away from his desk and glared at Jim, who was calmly working and seemingly not paying any attention.

"Very funny," he said, holding up another plastic cup of water. "Did you really think I wouldn't see this?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Dwight," Jim shrugged. "Weren't you drinking that cup of water earlier?"

Dwight poured the water into the nearby potted plant and angrily crushed the plastic cup with one hand, making sure Jim was still watching.

Jim smiled. "You certainly showed that cup who was boss," he said.

Dwight sneered and tried to toss the empty cup into a garbage can near the conference room door and missed.

"Oh…so close." Jim said.

"Shut up," said Dwight, as he stood to retrieve the crushed cup. As he did so, he noticed something else, and stormed into the conference room. "Jim!" he barked.

"Yes, Dwight?" Jim looked over to see Dwight stomping out of the conference room, another plastic cup of water in hand. "Oh, no thanks, buddy. I'm not thirsty."

Dwight's lips disappeared into thin white lines of hate. "This isn't over, Jim!" he growled and headed for Michael's office.

Just then, a quiet_ ding_ caught Jim's attention, and he turned to see a new message on his screen:

FanSeeKnewBeesLee: _No…it's just beginning!_

Jim suppressed a snort and typed back:

GymHowlPert: _Goosebumps, Beesly. 100 percent goosebumps._

--------------

"Michael, I need to talk to you right now!" Dwight said as he entered the office and closed the door. "In private."

"Ugh, can't it wait? I'm really busy right now." Michael clicked his mouse happily around his minesweeper game until he heard a satisfying kaboom! "Ha! Take that, Al-Qaeda!" Pleased with himself, he looked up at Dwight. "Why are you holding garbage?"

"This is not garbage, Michael." Dwight explained. "This is evidence, and…what is that?"

"Evidence? What is what? What are you talking about?" Michael exasperated.

"This!" Dwight picked up a small plastic cup of water from under a chair. "Here's another one! How did this get here?"

"I don't know." Michael shrugged. "I never noticed it. What is going on?"

"I have reason to suspect Jim Halpert of biological terrorism." Dwight said as calmly as he could. "He has been hiding cups of standing water—like these—around the office in an apparent attempt to spread the West Nile virus."

"Good God, Dwight, should we call Homeland Security?" Michael rolled his eyes.

"I have them on speed dial. Say the word, Michael." Dwight's eyes danced with the sort of glee usually reserved for medieval executioners. "Please. Say the word."

"You idiot, I was joking. We're not calling Homeland Security."

Dwight's eyes narrowed. He was not about to accept defeat. "Fine. Permission to commandeer all the available pantyhose in the office, then."

Michael just stared at Dwight. "I don't even want to know…"

"For mosquito netting."

"Get out."

Dwight exited Michael's office and saw Jim smiling at him. He returned the volley with a hostility-filled ace of his own and dumped the plastic cups in the trash before heading to his own desk. He had only taken a few steps when he suddenly changed course towards Stanley's desk.

Picking up another cup off the desk, he held it up triumphantly towards Jim. "You won't beat me." He said, pouring the water into a nearby plant and crushing the cup. "I am always one step ahead of you."

"HEY!" Stanley suddenly appeared from the men's room behind Dwight. "I was drinking that!"

--------------

GymHowlPert: _So what's the total so far?_

FanSeeKnewBeesLee: _He's found six more that I've noticed, but I haven't been back to the break room in a while. Also, last time I checked, he hadn't found the one in the ladies' room yet, either._

GymHowlPert:_ I'm sure he's waiting until we've all left. Excellent work today, Miss Beesly._

FanSeeKnewBeesLee: _Why thank you, Mr. Halpert._

GymHowlPert: _Care to celebrate our victory over dinner?_

FanSeeKnewBeesLee: _Sounds lovely. Just one thing, though._

GymHowlPert: _What?_

FanSeeKnewBeesLee: _Don't order the water. :)_

GymHowlPert: _Check._

--------------

Chapter End Notes:  
Stay tuned for more chapters from different authors!


	2. Pinball

Title: Crossing the Line

Author: I Heart Edward Cullen

Theme: Pinball

Summary: In which much mischief is had, Andy-Drew's record is broken, and Pam ends up actually getting her money's worth out of that crap the paid programming sells. Shocking.

A/N: Don't you hate it when you're washing something, and drop the hose and it falls on the sprayer handle and it absolutely soaks you? And is it just me, or are Otter Pops smaller than when you were a little kid? Everything was bigger when you were a little kid…

- - - - -

Jim was working on consuming his recommended daily ration of jelly beans. Not an easy task, mind you. He had standards to uphold, rigorous ones, a dependency to cater to that had been built up by many cumulative years of pouring refined sugar into his system. Why, if he didn't get his daily allotment of artificial flavors and dye, he might just be sent into a catastrophic downward spiral of wholesome living, including such dastardly items as wheat grass protein shakes and organic shampoo, and that could only lead to many jelly bean workers losing their jobs. Not a pretty picture.

He was in the midst of explaining this concept to Pam (it was supposed to eventually turn into an argument for her buying a larger bowl) when she interrupted him.

"Remember how you said that I owed you for scaring Michael off earlier? You're going to have to call that off, because I have just paid you back," she crowed, obviously very pleased with herself.

Jim cocked an eyebrow. "_Rea_lly? You're going to one-up the spread of west nile? I'd like to see you try."

She wasn't shaken. "Wait for the clock to strike the hour. Then you'll find out where I went during lunch."

- - - - -

Michael: See, I was down at corporate a few weeks ago, meeting with the Head Honcho, right? I hadn't really seen much of the guy since I walked in on him and his wife doin' the _naught-ay _in his office, but they didn't see me, and I hadn't really thought about it until when I was checking in for our meeting.

_He pauses, thinking about how to go on._

Michael: Me and Jan, we aren't the only office relationship going on around here. Sides Jim and Pam, it's nice to see that the guy actually married his secretary. Lucky dude- she must he half his age, and is just _smoking hot._

_Michael gestures futilely, somehow trying to convey her hot-ness with hand gestures. He eventually settles on a rough hourglass after much flailing about._

Michael: So I asked him, "How are things going with you and Shirley?" Take note, that's one of my business tips for success there, always ask your boss about their relationships- and he just freaks out. I thought I might have gotten her name wrong or something, cuz I thought it was Barb, but that's what it said on her nametag when she checked me in, so whatever. But the guy goes totally loco on me, I'm tellin' you, totally giving me the sixth degree, asking about how I knew about her, blah blah blah… totally overprotective. Jan must be glad _I'm _not like that. And out of the blue, he gave me a $6000 bonus!

_He gestures to a very large cardboard box in the corner, obviously whatever he spent his money on._

Michael: People can be so nice sometimes.

- - - - -

Oscar: See, me and Kevin have this bet going on why Michael hasn't been fired yet, because it's quite obvious that a trained chimpanzee would probably be more efficient and cost effective.

_He glances at Michael from the corner of his eye, as he and Dwight attack the box with razors. Something about his expression suggests that he's hoping that one of their hands slip._

Oscar: Kevin thinks that Michael is sleeping with someone besides Jan up at corporate. I think he just has some dirt on one of them.

_He glances thoughtfully at the pair._

Oscar: But I kind of doubt that he's smart enough to blackmail someone like that.

- - - - -

Pam and Jim are now in the break room. He's leaning up against one of the soda machines, and she's sitting on the counter. Suddenly, the fake lighted cover on the soda machine gives into his weight, caving inward with a rather ugly 'pop' and nearly sending him sprawling. She doesn't quite manage to restrain her giggles as he eyes the rather prominent dent, distorting all the fake condensation on the can as tall as he is.

They look at one another. "Dwight did it."

Moving on, Pam points at the ceiling. "Okay, so you know those clocks that make the different bird noises every hour?"

Jim nods. "From the late night insomniac infomercials. Go on."

Pam beams, delighted that he's following her. "Yeah. From the same people who brought us that talking fish plaque. Anyway, so I kind of stole your idea from when you chucked Andy's, excuse me, _Drew's,_ cell phone in the ceiling, and put the bird clock up there. When it goes off, I also have some other props," she says, waving a bag of Big-Bird-Yellow craft feathers.

There's a great deal of love in Jim's eyes. But it's probably from the thought of making Dwight a hypochondriac. He gestures towards Michael's newest present. "Awaiting deployment- just give me the word."

- - - - -

Michael: Arrrrggh. Me mateys. Yo ho. There be me booty! Savvy?

_In case that isn't clear enough, Michael makes an expressive gesture towards his Pirates of the Caribbean pinball machine. It looks very large and very expensive, and takes up the space his conspicuously absent desk used to occupy. He snickers and prances around his office in a rather disturbing fashion, in a crude imitation of a Jack Sparrow sashay._

Michael: Seriously, Jack Sparrow is the coolest dude ever. He's got wenches- although you can't call them that around Toby, that loser, always have to say prostitutes- he's got treasure, he's got a ship…

_He stares off into the distance, misty-eyed._

Michael: I've always wanted to do that, just sail off for adventure, get rich, kiss Keira Knightley… maybe that's what I'll do when I retire. This is where I'm needed. For now. _He _went down with his ship, and as captain of Dunder Mifflin I think that's my responsibility too.

- - - - -

Pam subtlety nods towards the clock, and Jim takes that as his cue, setting down his work and eyeing Dwight, his froggish eyes obscured behind the glare on his glasses.

Jim makes a show of throwing his pencil to his desk, whipping from side to side in a poorly done show of paranoia. Dwight glares at him. "Halpert. I still do not trust you. Your pathetic attempt to instill fright in me will do no good."

Jim jims, the very incarnation of innocence. "Dwight, what are you accusing me of? I haven't done anything. I just thought I heard a bird chirping somewhere in here." He shrugs, motioning towards the ceiling.

Dwight narrows his eyes. "I know very well that birds are most active during the early morning and evening periods during the summer. I'm not a fool, Halpert."

Pam chooses that moment to chime in. "Oh, Dwight, I forgot to tell you- I think I saw another one of those cups of water in the break room. I would have gotten rid of it myself, but I'm deathly afraid of mosquitoes and thought that I should just leave it up to a professional Volunteer Sheriff, like you." She gives a maidenly sigh, holding the back of her hand up to her forehead.

Dwight stalks off, suspicious, muttering about womenfolk, clearly trying to restrain himself from mentioning how he is, in fact, an _ex-_Volunteer Sheriff.

GymHowlPert: Lovely acting there, Beesley.

FanSeeKnewBeesLee: I'd like to thank the academy, my mom, my 3rd grade music teacher…

GymHowlPert: Now all you have to do is hit the mission targets to select mission.

FanSeeKnewBeesLee: No more pinball for you.

- - - - -

Jim is leaning casually on Michael's door frame, watching, bemused, as his boss cheers about breaking 100,000 points. He waits a few more minutes, for him to wind down his victory dance, then announces his presence. "Michael? Toby wanted me to ask you how those personnel reports are coming."

Michael narrows his eyes, something like bloodlust passing over his face. "I'll get them to him. Eventually. Can't you see I'm a little busy?"

"Okay…" Jim's a bit confused, but he's used to it. He restrains a grin. "I see you're a bit of a Johnny Depp fan."

Michael gapes at him. "A bit? C'mon. Look at this baby!" The look in his eyes is startlingly similar to someone looking at the Porsche they restored by hand.

Jim takes a deep breath, composing himself, then makes an effort to make his words even. "You see, I have this cousin down in San Francisco, Jon, and his partner's in this band. Jon sent me this CD last Christmas, but since the only thing they sing about in Johnny Depp, I thought you might enjoy it more than I do." He hands Michael the unmarked CD in a grand gesture, then whispers conspiratorially. "I guess I'm just more of a John Travolta person myself."

His boss snorts. "Whatever. Guess there's no accounting for taste." He snatches the CD greedily.

Jim scoffs. "C'mon! I'd like to see you dance like Vincent Vega-"

They're interrupted by an ear-splitting crash and some rather creative (if not technically swearing) cussing from the general direction of the break room.

- - - - -

The carnage is terrific, but the look on Dwight's plaster covered face is better. He's clutching the bird clock like a life preserver, looking on in horror at the large hole he just tore in the break room ceiling. Pam darts up to Jim's side, eyes wide, mouth running in an undertone.

"I saw the whole thing from reception! Dwight heard the clock go off when he was looking for another cup like I planned, so he climbed up on the counter looking for the bird and slipped. He was holding onto one of those thin little beams though, and the whole thing came crashing down around him… I think I might have gone too far this time." The look in her eyes is terrible, guilt-stricken and disgusted by her own elation at a prank gone all too right.

Jim's at a loss. As much as he hates Dwight and Dunder Mifflin, this is a bit extreme… and not to mention they won't have use of the break room while the ceiling is fixed. Providing Pam doesn't get found out and subsequently fired.

Oh dear.

He seizes upon the first thing that comes to mind. "I gave Michael a CD from some band named Gay for Johnny Depp." It comes out in a bit of a rush, and he wonders if she even understood what he said.

It isn't helped by fact that it takes her a good long time to respond. Pam stares at him, then at the ceiling, back to Jim, then the still-catatonic Dwight, Michael's shocked expression, and back to Jim again. Eventually she cracks a smile, a small snort.

"Now that's just mean."

- - - - -

A/N II: There is such a thing as a Pirates of the Caribbean pinball machine. I played on one while I was waiting for my flight at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. And Gay for Johnny Depp is an actual band too, although I haven't actually listened to any of their music… I found them on Wikipedia. Apparently they are heavy screamo. –shrugs- Might be fun to have on hand though, to blast from speakers to deter in-laws, parents, general unwanted authority figures… providing they could understand the lyrics.

And was Dwight a Volunteer Sheriff or Volunteer Sheriff's Deputy? Hmm. Eh, who cares…

Karen went Ka-Poof! this chapter.


End file.
